The Dance
by NLD-diva
Summary: GC, Gil's pov


Okay, this is my response to the September challenge. Hope you guys like it, and by the way, when I say present day, I mean 2nd season present day.   
  
She knocks on my door and I stumble out of my room and into the darkened living room. I fumble with the lock and hastily turn on the light. After my eyes adjust, I can see her bloody lip and her bruised cheek. She is staring at the ground and attempting not to cry, but she isn't successful. I shift to the side in order to let her come in and she stands, ashamed in my living room. Still looking at the floor, she chokes back a sob and sits on the edge of my couch.   
  
  
  
(one week later)  
  
I sit on my couch and stare at the clock. The bright yellow numbers read 2:37. I shake my head as I hear a soft knock, I get up slowly and open the door. I let her in and she collapses into my arms. I can see that her right arm is broken and probably her left wrist. I gather her up and gently place her in the passenger seat of my car, then I head the familiar route, to the hospital.  
  
(Three weeks after that)  
  
As I lie awake in my bed, I think to myself, "It didn't happen last week or the one before, maybe it won't happen tonight." But my heart skips a beat when my telephone rings harshly. It's Lindsey, sobbing and asking me to hurry and help her mommy. I grab my keys and head over to her house, hoping to God that Eddie is gone. I don't need or want any interference with getting Catherine to the Emergency Room.   
  
(Present Day)  
  
She is unaware, yet I observe her, as she examines a file for the hundredth time. I read her face, she makes her emotions obvious when she feels passionate about something, no matter what it is, whether it be about Lindsey, work, and especially Eddie. She isn't aware that I can read her mind when she is this way. She tries to keep everything inside, but when she gets to a certain point, it is apparent what she is feeling. Perhaps not to everyone else, but I can pick up on little things. A wrinkle of her nose, a cold stare even if it lasts for a mere second or so. I know, she doesn't know I can do this, she thinks I am oblivious, but it just isn't so.  
  
  
  
From the bruised, weak person on my doorstep, she has transformed into a strong, intelligent woman. A loving mother who would do anything for her daughter. A capable coworker, bringing her talent and compassion to the job every day; she is a beautiful, amazing person and I find myself lost in her.   
  
  
  
I hear her aggravated sigh and break out of my trance. She tosses the file aside and drops her head into her hands. She closes her eyes and massages her temples and after a few minutes she picks up a different file, one with pictures of the crime scene and she cringes at the ghastly photos. A mother and a daughter killed by strangulation, and Catherine was having trouble finding the evidence to catch the murderer. The case hit home for her; the young mother, 27 years old and her daughter just 3 years old. I was tempted to take her off the case, but I trust she will work professionally. She told me at the first sign of her getting too emotional I could remove her. So I merely observe; not just her work, but everything she does. Each and every day, we observe each other trying and usually succeeding at being subtle.  
  
  
  
We dance, everyday, not physically. Our relationship is a dance, a waltz if you will. We go forward and back, a spin here and there. Connected by our souls, and trying to break a part with our hearts. I would never find it in me to tell her how I feel; I am not sure how I feel as it is. She does something to me, something nobody else in the world could do. She makes me feel human, and loved; she makes me happy. Without words, we have a conversation. I think she knows what she does to me, she will give me a mysterious smile as if to say, "I know what you feel."  
  
Looking up from the pictures, she spots me staring at her. She cocks her head to one side and looks at me curiously. I smile, something no one but her ever sees. She smiles in return and shakes her head. Standing up, she grabs her coat and heads toward my office.   
  
  
  
"Breakfast on me." She tells, not asks then grins and waits for me to join her side. I laugh and stand up.  
  
  
  
And so we continue, the Dance. 


End file.
